


Days of the Phoenix

by kieyra



Series: The Enemy You Know [2]
Category: Veronica Mars (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-29
Updated: 2014-12-29
Packaged: 2018-03-04 03:00:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2906786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kieyra/pseuds/kieyra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>My alternate ending to season one. Sequel to my story The Usual Suspect (see series link). Written March 2005.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Days of the Phoenix

***

    _The dress had belonged to Lilly. She'd worn it a few times two springs ago, then dumped it unceremoniously at Veronica's house. "Way too virginal for me," Lilly had said with a wicked grin, "and it's getting too small in the chest anyway." She wasn't wrong; they'd been the same size for so long, and then suddenly Lilly had become...voluptuous. And she loved to flaunt it._

_Veronica ran fingers over the fabric of the dress hanging in front of her now. She'd forgotten about it until she'd been digging through her closet trying to find something to wear to the party. Lilly had been right, it was on the conservative side, but Veronica suddenly found it appealingly symbolic. It was summery and carefree and white; white, like the clean start she was determined to make. And she smiled to think how Lilly would give her a hard time for wearing it to a house party._

_So she put the dress on. Then, as a concession to the imaginary Lilly smirking at her, she added a choker and heavier makeup than she usually wore._

_"You're not fooling anyone, you know," said the Lilly in her head._

_"Shut up," Veronica murmured._

_Tonight was the night. Someone at school had handed her a flyer--maybe before they realized exactly who she was--and she was going, end of story._

_She was going to show them all._

***

    Eli's bedroom is small but neat. Too neat. The only thing that gives the space a sense of belonging to anyone is a pile of sketches on a little table. Veronica picks them up and pages through them--mostly stylized designs and patterns, nothing really concrete--and realizes that Eli probably drew his own tattoos. 

    Through long habit, she doesn't mention this observation out loud. Some things you just take mental note of in case they might come in handy later. And then Eli comes up to her and takes the sheaf of drawings from her and sets them back down.  He brushes her hair back on one side and kisses her neck.

    He's not much for small talk, as she's beginning to learn.

    It all right. She isn't either. Besides, what are they going to talk about? They've got maybe three things in common: Lilly Kane, high school outsider status, and a shared love of breaking and entering.

    And this: Veronica lets out a little sigh as Eli kisses his way up her neck. She smiles and turns her lips to meet his. His hands are warm at the small of her back, and she melts against him and gives in to the kiss.

    Three weeks now, and they've been stealing little moments together all over town: at the beach, in the shop at school, in her car, in little diners on the edges of the city. And now, here at Eli's house in the middle of the afternoon. Veronica's not totally comfortable with it. Eli's grandmother isn't home, but there are a lot of assorted cousins and such hanging around, and she's not real clear where all the family ties are. Doesn't want to ask.

    There are a _lot_ of things she doesn't want to ask. And some things she does want to, but won't.

    But she pushes it all out of her mind, because if there's one thing life has taught her it's that the good moments go by too fast. Eli's kissing her neck again, because he totally clued in on the fact that it makes her go all swoony. And that's all right. Swoony is good. It's something she's missed, in the last year or so.

    She feels his teeth, gently, at her neck, and she hisses in surprise. "Easy," she says, but it comes out breathily.

    "Baby," he murmurs in her ear. "You know I never leave any marks."

    It's true. He's thoughtful like that. She's seen plenty of girls come to school with barely-concealed hickeys two inches across. Had of a few of her own from Duncan, truth be told. Not very attractive.

    And besides which--Veronica lets out a little gasp as Eli suddenly wraps both arms around her and pulls her up against him and kisses her. Hard.

    He's also good at telling when she's getting mentally sidetracked.

    All in all, he's not a bad secret boyfriend, if one is willing to overlook a few minor issues. Such as antisocial behavior and a juvie record.

    He starts to walk them back over towards the bed, and they both go down, Veronica ending up on top in the sort-out. She laughs. "Such subtlety," she says.

    "Yeah, it's my specialty," he says, and pulls her down to him. He snakes his arms up around her waist and tries to roll them over, but Veronica holds on tight and doesn't let him.

    "You're stronger than you look," he says.

    "It's all about leverage," she says, smiling down at him.

     He tries again and she lets him this time. They lie together, one of his knees between both of hers. Which is all fine, because it's more comfortable this way anyway, she can just lie here in his arms and let him kiss her.

    Which he does.

    After a while, things get a little more heavy and intense than she might have had in mind when she agreed to come here after school. But when he slides his knee up a little higher between hers and pulls her against him more insistently--well, it doesn't really alarm her, because her body knows what it wants and it's getting better and better at circumventing her brain. She moves with his pull, allows herself to make the smallest sound of pleasure.

    Eli seems to take this all as some sort of cue; with no hesitation at all he starts to slide a hand up under the front of her shirt.

    Veronica grabs his wrist and stops him. Old reflex.

    She lets go instantly, but Eli sighs, defeated. "Guess all those rumors about you really _aren't_ true," he murmurs. A hand on her hip, his fingertips nudge under the hem of her shirt and just graze the bare skin above the waistband of her jeans. She doesn't flinch. "Or are they?"

    Veronica laughs. She says, "Guess I'm just your basic riddle wrapped in an enigma." She runs the tip of one finger slowly along his lower lip. His dark eyes go half-lidded, and about ten seconds later they're all over each other again.

    Problem is, she doesn't really _know_ what's true. Problem is, she's spent so long hearing the echoes of those rumors about herself that sometimes she almost starts to believe them, almost begins to feel as sexually jaded as she's alleged to be.

    At least until someone tries for second base, and then she's fifteen years old again and still basically thinking of herself as a good girl. The question of her virginity doesn't help. Mentally and emotionally, she is inexperienced. Technically she is not. She exists somewhere in between, in the sad limbo state she's occupied ever since the hellish morning after the party.

    Duncan was supposed to be her first. She'd had it all planned out. Graduation night, when she was eighteen...

Veronica suddenly realizes that they've stopped kissing, that her mind has wandered off again. And Eli is just lying there, head propped up on one fist, looking at her with an unreadable expression.

    "Sorry," she says quickly. "I just--"

    "Gonna tell me what's on your mind?"

    Veronica makes a snap decision: "Yeah. I am." She moves up against him again and smiles. "I was thinking about the fact that my father is going to be out of the state this weekend. And that my place would be a lot more private."

***

_Her father had frowned, but hadn't forbidden her from going. They weren't talking much lately. Everything was still too recent, wounds too fresh._

_But when he saw her emerge from her bedroom in her party dress, he smiled and walked her to the door. "Have fun, honey. And be careful. Call me if you need anything."_

    _She smiled back. "I will, Dad," she said.  And she closed the door firmly behind her._

_Three times during the drive she almost turned around. But finally she found herself parking a few blocks over from the party. There were cars lining the street in both directions._

_She steeled herself, got out of her car and began the long walk up to Shelley Pomeroy's house. She felt like she was walking to her own execution, but her determination held._

    _She'd been hiding long enough._

***

    The rest of the week's about normal: sleep through first period, do third period's homework during second period, sleep some more, wake up and glare at the two girls whispering behind their hands and laughing her direction. Class-end bell; Duncan and Logan in the hall, looking like they're up to something, but she can't be bothered to find out what. Lunchtime, down to the east hallway and the shop--can practically pick that lock in her sleep now. Fifteen sweet minutes with Eli, back outside and grab some food with Wallace.

    Wallace, who looks at her on Wednesday and says, "Girl, what's up with you anyway?"

    "Huh?"

    "You haven't stopped smiling for like a week--and honestly, it's starting to creep me out."

    "I'm just in a good mood. You should try it sometime."

    He shakes his head. "That's some weak-ass repartee you're bringing. I'm _always_ in a good mood."

    She shrugs. "There's just nothing wrong right now. For a change. Is that so hard to believe?"

    "With you? And that big dark cloud of bad luck that follows you around? Yeah, it's kind of hard to believe."

    "What can I say? I guess I'm just getting my five minute break before the next tornado."

    And she goes back to smiling at her plate.

    After lunch it's back inside for two more classes; out early since she's got a job. Downtown to the office for the rest of the afternoon, where she mostly surfs the web. It's a slow week and they're not taking any new cases till after Dad gets back in town. So she reads The Smoking Gun and alt.gossip.showbiz and downloads lots of mp3s on the office's broadband connection.

    Even a lower-middle-class girl's gotta stay culturally aware.

    Wednesday, Thursday and Friday all slip by like that. She drives Dad to the airport Friday afternoon. He's off to Scottsdale and the pursuit of a bond-jumper. This one's on an 09er expense account--someone's precious son skipped town on drug charges--so Veronica changes Dad's hotel reservation to the Biltmore and tells herself it's not because she feels a little bit guilty.

***

    _It was worse than she could have imagined. She'd thought she could just blend right in and they would accept her back into the herd. But they weren't herd animals, as she'd tricked herself into thinking, they were_ pack _animals. Predators. And they smelled blood._

_No one would talk to her. If she tried to join a circle of conversation with people who used to be her friends, the circle tightened imperceptibly until she was left staring at the back of someone's shoulder. So she walked around, trying to pretend she had somewhere important to go, someone to meet. Yeah, that was it--someone to meet. Someone cool, someone waiting just on the other side of the room, someone who was going to welcome her with open arms and magically grant her social legitimacy._

_She never found that person. So she walked around some more._

_Seeing Duncan with another girl barely registered. She was still broken inside by the way he'd dumped her with no explanation at all, so shattered she fell asleep at night thinking of it and woke up thinking of it. Being anywhere near him made it hurt to breathe. Compared to that exquisite pain, some random girl nuzzling his neck was purely academic._

_But maybe it played some little part in her decision to close her fingers around the drink someone pushed at her. Besides, it was the first time anyone had even acknowledged her existence tonight. It was a token. So she gulped at the drink gratefully, wincing her way past the alcohol kick._

_She finished it in four swallows._

_***_

Eli comes over Friday night; Veronica greets him at the door with a kiss.

    He's got a paper sack in one arm. "Cool, you got it," she says. She asked him to bring over a six-pack.

    "Yeah," he says. "Wallace hooked me up."

    Veronica frowns at him. "Wallace?" 

    "Don't worry, it's not like I told him who I was drinking it with."

    She leads him into the kitchen so he can put down the bag. "Are you hungry?" she asks. "Because I'm totally not cooking you dinner."

    He reaches into the sack and brandishes a bag of Ruffles.

    Veronica grins.  "Gotta love a man who can _provide_."

    They settle down next to each other on the living room sofa. It's kind of awkward at first, because they haven't spent a whole lot of uninterrupted time together. Like, ever. Veronica solves it by drinking her first beer down fast. She rarely drinks, but this is why she wanted it: a fast cure for nervousness.

    Fifteen minutes later, her head is buzzing dreamily; she's got some music on, and they're watching the muted television and talking and laughing.

    "What's this show, anyway ?" Eli asks after a little while, gesturing at the television with his beer bottle. David Duchovny and Gillian Anderson are on the screen, looking troubled.

    "Very funny," says Veronica,

    Eli looks at her blankly.

    "You mean you've never watched The X-Files?" she demands. "That's not possible. _Everyone's_ seen X-Files."

    She tries to explain the premise to him, spends about ten minutes getting herself confused with the UFO conspiracy part and trying to remember what happened in the finale--and then she looks at Eli and realizes that he's totally messing with her. He's got his Corvette grin on now.

    "Note to self," she says, "Boys with motorcycles cannot be trusted under any circumstances."

    Eli leans over and kisses her. "Had a crush on Scully when I was 12," he says.

    Veronica laughs. The she takes a longer look at him. In jeans and a black buttoned shirt, he looks much younger for a moment, looks his years.

    He looks good.

    Impulsively, she climbs over onto his lap, facing him. It's a new thing for her, being so assertive, but the beer helps. So does the way he looks. And all the stolen kisses of the last month.

    And besides, she's determined to get through this.

    She settles back on his thighs, and kisses him once, quickly, to hide her nervousness. He only seems surprised for a moment; then he puts his hands on her hips and looks up at her, smiling faintly. Almost like he's daring her to keep going.

    She touches his cheek with her fingertips. Such nice skin he's got. And the eyelashes. Funny how you see a person every day, and certain things just don't click for a long time. But when they do...

    She leans down to kiss him again, putting her whole body into it. It doesn't take him long to respond; he cups one hand behind her neck, wraps the other arm around behind her. Body to body, straddling him, she can feel his abdominal muscles flex when he leans forward to meet her, can feel him breathe as they kiss. And she can feel his growing hardness. His hands slide around her waist to the back of her jeans, then up underneath her shirt. He touches the bare skin of her back, all over, leaving tiny sparks behind. Then one hand is at the back of her neck again. Pulling her down to him, against him, closer. And with the way they're kissing now, fevered and desperate, Veronica feels there's not much chance of misunderstood intentions.

    But when she reaches down to find the buttons on his shirt, his grip on her loosens. He breaks the kiss. He takes her by the hands and says, "Wait."

    Veronica stops, fingers still at the top button. "Wait? I mean... _wait?_ "

    But he doesn't answer, and now he doesn't seem to want to look at her.

   "Uh," she begins, "Okay. I have a question. Why am I suddenly the one not succeeding in getting _your_ shirt off?" She catches his eye and grins. "You're not one of those abstinence-club people, are you?"

    He laughs. She can feel his abs contract again. "Not even gonna justify that with a response," he says.

    "Fine," she says, still smiling, trying to keep things light so she doesn't completely freak out. After psyching herself up for tonight, she's not sure she can handle this unexpected rejection. "But I hope you're gonna justify it with _something._ "

    He slides her off his lap and onto the couch, where she sits feeling foolish. She grabs a loose cushion and hugs it to her chest.

    "Need to show you something," he says. "Just so you know."

    She almost makes a joke about scars or missing toes, but then she sees the look on his face. "Okay," she says, mystified.

    Then he stands up and unbuttons his shirt. Veronica watches, increasingly confused, as he takes off the shirt, revealing more or less the solid, muscled torso she's envisioned in her recent late-night fantasies. And there's one scar after all, pretty good one, high up on his ribcage. But then he turns around halfway, and it takes a moment for Veronica to comprehend what it is he's trying to show her.

    A tattoo just below his left shoulder. The color red jumps out at her. A heart. A name.

Veronica raises a hand to her mouth, doesn't quite gasp.

    "Oh," she says, behind her fingers. Then, mostly to herself: "That's why you didn't want me looking at your drawings."

    Eli pulls his shirt back on but doesn't button it up again.  He sits down on the couch next to her and stares back at the silent television without really focusing on it.

    Veronica looks at him and tries to think what to say. She remembers his words about Lilly in Miss James's office: _She was someone I could have loved..._

She can't help it. She has to ask. "I know it's none of my business," she begins carefully, "but if you want to tell me what happened between you two...I'm listening."

    He glances at her. The little crucifix glitters against his smooth, tattooed chest. "I don't really want to talk about it. I just wanted to show you. So you knew...beforehand."

    _Beforehand._

    So they _are_ on the same page.

    She nods. "Okay." Then she stands up and smiles."Come on," she says, hoping he won't catch the tremor in her voice. She holds out a hand, and he follows her back to her bedroom.

***

_Twenty minutes after she finished the drink, she started to feel tired and dizzy and a little sick. She shouldn't have had alcohol on an empty stomach. She suddenly just wanted to go home, but she decided to find a place to rest for a few minutes and make sure she wasn't going to throw up._

_She wandered around the big house some more. The party was in full rage, and the sounds of the music started flowing all together into one indistinct rhythm. She couldn't recognize people's faces any more. Yeah, she was going to be sick for sure. She tried to find a bathroom. She kept trying doors, but they were all either locked or they opened into big empty bedrooms. Then she found an oversized laundry room. She walked inside and leaned against the washer for a moment, trying to feel better. There was a sink, so she bent over and splashed her face with cool water from the tap._

_It worked, a little, or at least her stomach settled down. She straightened back up. She decided she'd at least get out to her own car, lock herself inside, maybe call her father to come get her. He'd be mad she was drunk, but he'd understand._

_But she got lost trying to find the front door, and ended up out by the pool instead. There were people swimming, but at least it was quieter and less smoky out here. Things were getting fuzzy and slow and confused, and she knew she was going to pass out soon. She didn't remember drinking so much, but she must have really had a lot. She walked as carefully and deliberately as she could, because she knew there was a real danger at this point that she was going to fall into the pool. She could barely remember what she was doing one moment to the next, but she managed to keep focused on the empty lounge chair way out in the distance._

_Best to sleep it off out here. No one would pay her any attention._

_The lounge chair seemed like it was miles and miles away, but she finally reached it and sank down onto it with a profound sigh._

_***_

    Here in the cool darkness of her bedroom, it's quieter than the little moments they've stolen in other places, less frantic than the scene on the couch.

    It's also scarier, and far more intense.

    Still, not quite as scary as Veronica thought it would be; maybe because Eli's inclined to go so slow. At times she has to urge him on silently--like by sitting up and peeling off her own shirt when he seems hesitant to push beyond that barrier.

    She's afraid he suspects the truth, that he can tell she's damn near a virgin. He's being a little too careful with her. And she's got a feeling he's fairly well experienced himself--otherwise, she's sure, he'd be more desperate to move things along.

    Still, it goes on and on; clothing comes off piece by piece at intervals delineated by endless slow kissing. And once she slides out of her jeans, he seems to take the situation more seriously. He touches her, does things to her in ways she never really thought about, ways that fall far outside her realm of experience. His hands and mouth are deft and confident, and she doesn't have to fake her sounds of pleasure, or the arching of her back, or the tensing and relaxing of her thighs.

    Or the sudden, unexpected orgasm brought on by his patient, deliberate touch. She bites his shoulder, squeezing her eyes shut, trying not to make too much noise. Faintly embarrassed, for reasons she'd be hard put to explain.

    Maybe he _can_ tell she doesn't really know what she's doing, and maybe he can sense the fear lurking just beneath her skin. Maybe he notices that she can't seem to stop shaking, even after she comes.

    But if so, he makes no comment.

    And now he takes her hand and guides it towards him. She does what she can--it's not rocket science, after all--and is rewarded when he seems to grow bigger in her hands, and draws shallow breath.

    _Now or never,_ she thinks.

    "Hold on," Veronica whispers. She stops, leans up on one elbow and reaches over for the nightstand. She opens the drawer and feels around in the dark until she finds the condom that she put there six hours ago.

    Wordlessly, she presses it into his palm. He opens his mouth to speak, probably to say something like, _You sure?_ But she covers his mouth with her own, killing any questions, because the last thing she wants to do right now is stop to think about things.

    He takes her face in his hand, kissing her again, and gradually they shift around till he's positioned over her. In the moonlight through the window and the glow of electronics in her room, she can just make out his face. She hears the sound of the wrapper tearing.

    She closes her eyes. And then--

    Veronica gasps, then bites her lower lip hard to keep from crying out. But it doesn't really hurt, it's just uncomfortable. Which is disappointing in its own stupid way--it makes what happened to her distressingly real, just for the fraction of a second till she pushes it out of her mind.

    And after a few uneven moments Eli gets a rhythm going, and Veronica gets a vague, instinctive idea of how she can move with him to make it go easier. And then it starts to actually feel kind of good, an unfamiliar background pleasure behind the discomfort. And when they hit a particular tempo, the new feeling comes strongly to the foreground. It sends fresh shivers down her body; it brings new sounds from her throat, sounds she barely recognizes as her own. They find each other's mouths then, kissing as hot as they ever have, and she holds onto Eli's slick shoulder blades as they move together.

    Later, he says her name. Just once, fast and low through gritted teeth. The only time either of them speak.

    Much later still, they fall asleep, all scrunched up in her bed because it's not really made for two people, and Veronica sighs elatedly before she goes out.

    She knows now that she made the right decision. She's out of limbo; she understands what it's all about. And it was with someone she trusts, someone who clearly cares about her. She's just a normal girl, a girl who put on her boyfriend's shirt to go the kitchen for that all-important post-sex Coke, just like something out of a movie. And the way he looked at her when she came back into the room was almost unbearably cute.

    It's all good. Everything's going to be fine.

***

    _She felt someone lift her up. "Dad?" she tried to say, because it was the only thing that made sense, the only person who should be carrying her around like a kid._

_But her mouth didn't seem to be connected to her brain any more, and no sound came out. She tried to open her eyes and focus on whoever was holding her, but her eyelids only fluttered open for a second, revealing fuzzy dark shapes._

_"Don't worry," said a voice, a voice that was familiar, even if it echoed and stretched. "I've got her. I'll take care of it."_

_She was placed gently on a bed, covered up with a blanket, and she wanted to tell them that the lounge chair had been quite comfortable and they didn't have to do this. But all she could do was mumble incoherently._

_And then things went dark._

_Some vague time later, hands touched her, and the bed shifted and moved with the weight of another body, and it went on for a nightmarish few minutes until she slipped back into unconsciousness._

_But just before that, a different voice, also familiar, said, "Veronica?"_

_***_

    "Veronica!"

    The voice in the dark scares her, and she grapples with an unseen assailant. Who makes a scarily powerful grab at her wrists.

    "Veronica, it's me! What the hell's wrong with you?"

    The figure lets her go and she tries to get away, but there's a wall in front of her. She gets down low and tries to make herself as small as possible. She scrabbles at the wall in the dark, trying to find a doorway, a window, anything.

    Lights go on, momentarily blinding her. When she can focus, she realizes she's in her own bedroom, huddled down in the corner by the door. And Eli is standing over her, white-eyed, his hand still on the light switch.

    Shirtless, he crouches down beside her and reaches a hand towards her. She flinches away. "Veronica," he says. "You've gotta tell me what's wrong."

    She slows her breathing with effort. "How did I get over here?"

    "You screamed in your sleep, and then you tried to run out of the room. Scared the hell out of me."

    "Oh _God_."

    Eli looks dead grim. "You screamed 'don't touch me,'" he says. "You gonna tell me who you were talking to?"

***

    _She knew she'd been raped; knew it for sure as soon as she got up to walk and felt the vague soreness._

_Devastation. She thought she'd been devastated before. When Duncan rejected her. When Lilly was murdered. When her mother left._

_Now, she truly began to sound the very depths of the word._

_She knew Sheriff Lamb wouldn't do anything, but she went anyway. And it just made everything worse._

_She held herself together until her father left town a day later, and then she had a total meltdown, walking from room to room in the little apartment, weeping until her nose was running and she was blinded by tears, gasping and choking for breath, then sobbing some more. Everything she'd been trying to shove down for so long came up from inside her like vomit, and there was nothing she could do but let it all out._

_She didn't eat or sleep for two days. She was afraid to sleep alone in the apartment. At night she sat on her bed, knees drawn up to her chest, every light in the apartment turned on. Fingering one of Dad's spare revolvers._

_She finally fell asleep at dawn the third day, mentally and physically and spiritually exhausted._

_***_

    At first she tries to say it was just a nightmare.

    But Eli looks at her with a cold, black look in his eyes that says he knows she's lying. "Veronica. Come _on_."

    She's frightened and confused, and she's misplaced her natural tendency not to do what people tell her to. So she sits on the bed, wrapped up in the blanket because she's still shaking, and tells him the whole story.

    And as she talks, Eli gets quieter and quieter. The look on his face gets darker. His silence scares her. And when she's finished, he stands and puts his fist through the bedroom wall.

    Veronica flinches, stares for a second at the crumbling empty space in the thin drywall. "Okay, _that's_ not helping any."

    Eli shakes out his hand.  "I ever find the asshole..."

    "Yeah. I know."

    He sits next to her on the bed. His expression is still dangerous. "And that was the only time--?"

    "Yeah."  She starts to shake harder. She draws the blanket tightly around herself.

    "Why didn't you _tell_ me?" he asks. Anger in his voice.

    She matches anger for anger. She says, icily, "I really didn't think it was anyone's business but mine."

    "Dammit, Veronica--" But then he just sighs and looks at her pleadingly. "Why'd you come on to me like that tonight? If I'd known, I'd have--"

    "You'd have what? What would you have done differently? Treated me like I was made of glass? Or would you have even _touched_ me if you knew?"

    He glares at her. "You know you're way too smart to say something that dumb."

    It makes her even madder. "I wanted to get it over with. And I wanted it to be _my_ decision."

    "Get it over with," he echoes bitterly.

    "The first time! I mean--goddammit, you know what I mean."

    "Yeah, okay,"  he says. He takes a deep breath, and slides one arm around her. Then the other. Hugs her against his shoulder. "Okay. I'm sorry. Okay? I'm just--I want to get my hands on this guy. I'm going to kill him. We have to find out who it was."

    Veronica shakes her head. "You're going to be eighteen in a few weeks. You think it's going to make me feel better if you go to prison over this? You need to let me handle it."

    "So you _know_ who did it, then."

    "No," she says quickly. "But if I ever remember what happened--"

    "If?" he says. "You really think you're going to be okay with this, not ever knowing for sure?"

    Veronica shrugs. "I was doing fine till now."

    "Till now, yeah. Till you woke up screaming. That ever happen before?"

    "No." It's a bad thing to have to admit, like _he_ caused it or something. "I should have told you," she says finally, not looking at him. "I just figured, hey, the hardest part was already over. I thought it would help me get past it. Once and for all."

    He doesn't look at her, either.

    "And," she goes on desperately, "I knew if I told you there'd be a body count. It's the same reason I never told my father. Just let me handle it. I've got some leads."

    He's still tense. He doesn't say anything for a long moment, then: "Okay. We find out who it was, we do it your way."

    She can't tell if he's lying. Or if he knows that she is. After a long time, they fall asleep again.

    The next morning, he leaves early. He's got things to do, and so does she. They kiss goodbye.

    But Eli doesn't say he'll call her, and Veronica doesn't ask.

***

_Veronica woke up the afternoon after her breakdown, weak and dehydrated. But she felt different, ineffably changed. And she felt a strange exhilaration._

_She was a survivor, she realized then, and she had a new, secret store of rage inside her that would carry her forward. She'd been through the worst they could throw at her, and she was still alive and still sane._

_She was all done with crying._

_She got up, calmly walked into the bathroom, and cut off most of her hair._

_Then she got dressed and went down to the beach, carrying a plastic sack. She found the remains of someone else's bonfire and built it back up with pieces of paper and twigs until the flames were high and crackling. Then she took the white dress out of the sack and tossed it onto the fire._

_And watched while it burned to ash._

_***_

    Sunday night, Veronica wakes up running down the hall.

    Something chasing her. Right behind her.

    She stumbles and catches herself against a wall. But she has to keep moving. She's sure of it. She has to get away from...

    Away from--

    What, exactly?

    Her throat feels raw.

    She leans against the hallway wall and catches her breath. Looks around, panting.

    Then her father opens his bedroom door and comes to her, takes her by the shoulders. "Veronica? Are you all right? I heard you scream, what's going on?"

    Veronica swallows. "A roach." Her voice cracks, and she controls it with effort. "In my bedroom."

    "A _roach_?"

    "A really big one." She takes another deep breath. "I'm fine, Dad, really. I'll call the landlord tomorrow."

    "Well, do you need me to come kill it?"

    "No," she says quickly. "I think I scared it off with my high-pitched wailing."

    "Okay," he says dubiously. "Well, if you need anything, just wail again."

    "I will."

    He kisses her on the forehead and goes back to bed.

    And Veronica goes back into her room, opens her laptop and googles _'night terrors'_ , a phrase she pulls out of some half-memory of a psych book she skimmed once.

    What she finds makes her angry; angry and frustrated and upset. It's not fucking fair that she was raped _and_ she has to experience these charming little psychological repercussions a year later, when she thought she was totally fine and over it.

    _The gift that keeps on giving_ , she thinks glumly.

    And she realizes that Eli is right: she really ought to try to _do_ something about it.

***

    Monday, she spots Mac in the parking lot. "Hey," she says, walking up and leaning against Mac's Beetle. "I need a favor. A huge, sensitive, highly confidential favor."

    Because if there's anyone at Neptune High who understands secrets the way Veronica does, it's Cindy MacKenzie.

    Mac appraises her with those too-intelligent eyes. "Sure," she says. "What is it?"

    "Can you come over to my place after school?"

    That afternoon, they go into Veronica's bedroom. Mac immediately spots the hole in the wall. "Remodeling?" she asks.

    "It was a _really_ big roach," says Veronica absently, and makes a mental note to cover the hole with a poster. Or make friends with a construction worker. Something, before Dad notices.

    "Uh-huh."  Mac sits on the bed next to Veronica. "So. What's this favor?"

    Veronica says, "I need to know if you heard any unusual rumors about me around this time last year."

    Mac smiles. "Come on, Veronica. We're in high school. Last week I heard a rumor that the Warrick twins were starring in a gay bondage video with Mr. Clemmons."

    Veronica winces. "Thanks so much for the visual. And thanks for trying to be nice about it. Look, I know the rumors were out there. I know they still are. And you're in a better position to hear the stuff about _me_ than I am. Spreading malicious slander just isn't as much fun if the victim is actually in the same room with you."

    Mac shakes her head. "Still not sure specifically what you mean. There was the stuff about you and Duncan, like I told you before..."

    "No," she says. "Different stuff. After a party last year. Like, maybe I got drunk and passed out."

    Mac's face darkens. " _That_ rumor."

    _Bingo._ Veronica's stomach tightens up, but she says, "Yeah. What were the details of that one, exactly?"

    "You really want to know?"

    "I don't want to. I need to."

    Mac avoids her eyes, says, "I heard you got really drunk and that you were, you know..." She clears her throat. "Giving it away in one of the back bedrooms."  She adds quickly: "But I never thought it was true, even before I really knew you."

    Veronica smiles sadly. "Anything else? Any other details you remember? Like maybe who else was involved?"

    Mac looks thoughtful, then says, "No, but I heard Dick Casablancas tell someone he had, like, hidden video footage of the whole thing. But you know that kid, he's a total poser. He talks out his ass all the time. No one ever believes him."

    Video. Veronica closes her eyes. She feels like she's breathing liquid nitrogen, all her veins and arteries gone to ice. If it's true, if a video recording exists, it's all the answer she'll need. It also makes the situation about five thousand times worse.

    "Veronica?" says Mac. "You all right?"

    "I'm fine," she says. "Just fine. You feel like doing a little hacking? I can pay."

    Mac regards her curiously. "Sure. But you know it's always _pro bono_ for you."

***

Tuesday, she catches Eli's eye in the hall. "Got time for a little chat?" she asks. "Lunchtime? Usual place?"

    He nods once, keeps walking.

    Veronica has spent the past few days mentally preparing herself to get dumped--if that's even the right word when one is talking about a totally clandestine relationship. But she figures it's coming either way; it's only to be expected after everything else that's happened to her.

    She guesses most guys wouldn't take the rape news very well. But it still hurts like hell, and dammit, she's not going to let him give her the Duncan treatment. She's going to make him break up with her like a man.

    In the shop at lunchtime, she gets there first and she thinks maybe he's not even going to show up. But the lock clicks a moment later, and he lets himself in.

    And then he walks over to her kisses her hello.

    She looks up at him after. "Well. _That's_ weird."

    "Eh?" He hooks his fingers into the belt loops of her jeans, keeping her right there next to him.

    It just doesn't seem possible, but... "You're not breaking up with me?"

    He shrugs. "I dunno, baby. You keep calling me weird, I might start to take offense."

    "Oh," she says. "I just thought that after what happened... you know." A little on the vague side, so she tries again: "You haven't called me."

    "You haven't called me either," he says.

    Veronica blinks. Okay, so maybe he's got an itsy-bitsy point there.

    "I figured we both needed some time to cool down," Eli says, "think things through."

    It's a reprieve, absolution, where Veronica was sure there was none to be found. So she slings her arms up around his neck, smiles. "You're right. And I _have_ thought things through, and maybe you were right about some of the stuff you said. But--" she interrupts when he starts to respond. "I still want you to let me deal with it."

    His eyes narrow. "You don't trust me to help you."

    "It's not that," she says. "I just need to know exactly what I'm dealing with before we do anything rash."

    "'We,'" he repeats.

    "Yeah. We."She kisses him.

    After a moment, Eli breaks the kiss and says in a low voice, "When's your Daddy going out of town again?"

    Veronica laughs in surprise. "Wow. Not even _trying_ to be smooth about it, are you?"

    He shrugs, still holding her close; he slides his palms into the back pockets of her jeans. He grins and says, "I thought I'd come over and patch up the hole I punched in your wall."

    "Is that what the kids are calling it these days?"

    "Well, I'm serious. Not," he adds, "that I wouldn't take a lil' something in trade..."

    "Ha! You really _are_ the perfect secret boyfriend."  She says it with sarcasm, but she's also relieved that he's not treating her any differently, now that he knows the truth.

    He grins bemusedly. "'Secret boyfriend', eh?"

    "Well, you're not too easy to bring home to meet the parents, are you?"

    "And I never can figure out why."

    They walk to the front of the shop, and they kiss one last time as Eli holds open the door. Which is really stupid, Veronica thinks to herself as they kiss, because all it would take is the wrong person walking by the door at the exact wrong moment, and--

    "Well, if _this_ isn't an unholy alliance!"

    Veronica flinches away from the kiss and turns to face--

    --Logan.

    Of _course_ it is.

    "Oh, this is just perfect." Logan grins at the tableau before him with amusement and disbelief. He looks at Weevil. "And here I thought you were holding out for _me_. See, this is what happens when you take your eye off the prize."

    Veronica feels her cheeks pinkening. She rolls her eyes. "Fine. You caught us. Go ahead, get it out of your system."

    Logan laughs like a madman. Veronica senses Eli starting to tense beside her, but Logan holds up his palms and says, "No, no, this is good. This is great, actually. I'm having a party this Friday night. Daddy's going to this spiritual retreat to see if the gurus there can help him cope with what happened to my mother. Or that's his cover story anyway--he's probably going to Vegas and getting a suite full of Asian hookers. But I digress. I'm hosting the gala event of the season, and I'm telling my rent-a-cops  to let in anyone under twenty-five as long as they don't look like media types. That means even _you_ two can get in."

    Veronica stares at him. "Gee. Thanks."

    "No, really. You _have_ to come. Fully catered, open bar. And special party favors, if you know what I mean. I've got it all lined up. Just bring ten bucks and pick a vowel. Besides, It wouldn't be the same without you guys there." Logan reaches over and pretends to straighten the collar of Eli's leather jacket. "It's not a party until someone gets arrested, right?"

    "Yeah, man," says Eli, batting his hand away. "We'll think about it."

    "Excellent," Logan says. "I look forward to it. And you two really do make an adorable couple. Way to embrace the cultural diversity." He smiles and waggles his fingers at them. "Toodles."

    As he walks away, he says, "Fucking _perfect,_ " apparently to himself.  And laughs again.

    "One of these days..." says Eli.

    "I'm going to bitch-slap the white right off that guy," finishes Veronica. She turns to look up at Eli. "So, what do you think? Do we make an appearance at Logan's annual house-trashing? Could be pretty scary.  But hey, free food and booze, right?"

    "Look, I'll see you later," says Eli, staring down the hallway.

    "Nice non-sequitur."

    "I've gotta go, I just remembered something." He smiles and presses her arm. "I'll call you tonight. Okay?"

***

    Weevil figures Felix is the one to ask; he's got a good memory for the little details, but he's not smart enough to put them all together and come up with a big picture. And he keeps his mouth shut. Mostly.

    But he can't talk to him until after their next class together. He catches Felix's eye as they're filing out into the hall, and motions him over to the locker wall.

    Felix sidles up next to him and nods. "Yo, Weevil. 'Sup?"

    "Hey, man," Weevil says, keeping it low, "Got a question for you."

    "Yeah?"

    "Remember when Catalino got busted last year, when he was selling that shit to the 09ers?"

    "Yeah, so?"

    "You remember what he finally got caught with?"

    Felix screws up his brow with the effort of concentration. "Pills, I think. He was making all those trips to TJ, you know? Yeah, that's it, it was roofies."

    Weevil nods. "Yeah. That's what I thought."  He slams his locker door shut. "You know where I can _find_ our boy Catalino these days?"

***

Veronica and Mac meet Friday morning in the parking lot before school. Mac pulls out a manila folder and hands it to Veronica.

    Veronica opens it, finding a few laserjet-printed sheets of logs and file directories and such.

    "I drove by his house last night," says Mac. "They have a WiFi network set up in the house, and it's totally open, no encryption. I got right in. People really shouldn't leave those wireless routers on the default settings."

    "Goldmine?"

    "Yeah. But the stuff I think you're going to be really interested in--I just found using Google. This kid isn't so bright." She reaches over and flips back a few pages, pointing to one in particular. She looks at Veronica. "Sorry," she says sympathetically.

    Veronica reads what's on the printout. "God," she says. It's about as bad as she thought. "Thanks, Mac. I owe you." She tucks the folder away in her bag.

    "What are you going to do?"

    Veronica puts on her best wry grin. "What I do best."

***

    Dick Casablancas comes home Friday after school. He heads into his bedroom, where he spends most of his free time, and nearly falls over with shock when he sees the blond figure sitting primly on the edge of his bed.

    "God! How did _you_ get in here?"

    Veronica Mars stands up and smiles at him. She waves. "Hey, _Dick!_ "

    "Dude, how did you get in my bedroom? I should call the cops."

    " _Dude,_ your Mom let me in. She said I could wait for you in the living room. I think she went grocery shopping, so I had a look around." She smiles. "Your Mom seemed really happy that an actual girl was coming to visit you."

    "What are you doing here? What do you want?"  

    The blond girl's expression switches from cheerful to deadly serious. "I want the video. You know which one. Now, you're fairly stupid--oh, don't look at me like that, Dick, I'm just stating the facts here--but you're not _completely_ stupid. So you know you could get in serious, _major_ trouble for having that video. So I figure you don't keep it on your computer. You've probably just got one copy, and you've got it hidden pretty well. Maybe you take it out for special occasions, maybe you figured you'd blackmail me someday. I don't care. I want it. Now." She glances around the room with distaste. "I would have looked for it myself, but frankly I don't think I could stomach seeing whatever's under your bed."

    It takes Dick a minute to sort through everything she said because she talks so fast. His left eyelid starts to twitch, a nervous tic he's had since he was a kid. He's on the edge of panic. "I don't know what you're talking about," he says. "Get out of here before I call 911."  His voice is quavering, but he adds, "Freak."

    Veronica sighs and smiles at him indulgently. "Wow, you're actually a worse liar than I even expected. Okay, let me put it another way. You really shouldn't have used your school email address when you posted all those stupid tech questions about setting up X10 cameras."

    Dick just stares at her.

    "No response?" says Veronica. "You want me to keep going?"

    She walks around the room, ticking off points on her fingers: "I know you're a creepy perv. I know you get your kicks from planting hidden wireless cameras in the bedrooms at your friends' parties. I know you've been doing it for at least a year and a half. I also know all about your particular porno fetishes. And I have to admit, you've got a few I didn't even know _existed._ But God love the Internet, I say." She smiles a thin smile that all but drips venom. "And last, but certainly not least: I know you're in love with Logan." She pauses. "Or, at least, you think you are. It sounds  more like a simple schoolgirl crush to me. But who am I to say?"

    Dick flattens himself against the wall. He has to fight the urge to run. "You don't know what you're talking about," he croaks.

    "Oh, Dick," says Veronica. "I really think I _do_. I found your blog. Once again, you need to learn some better anonymizing skills."  She brightens. "Hey! I have fifty spare Gmail invites. I could totally hook you up."

    "What do you want?" he asks again. He clenches and unclenches palms that are suddenly soaked with sweat.

    "I _told_ you. I want the video. I know you know what I'm talking about. Give it to me and _I_ won't call the cops. And I'll even keep all your little secrets." She shrugs. "For now."

    "All right," Dick says finally. "You know what's _on_ the video?"

    A shadow passes over the blond girl's face. "Yes," she says, hesitating only a moment.

    "What are you going to do with it?"

    She goes poker-faced. "Don't you worry about it."

    He shrugs, tries to act like it's all no big deal. "Fine. Whatever."

    It's hard to hold the screwdriver when his hands are shaking so badly, but he gets the A/C vent cover unscrewed. He pulls down the little package that's taped to the inside of the duct.

    "Here," he says, handing her the CDROM in its sleeve. "Now go _away_."

    "Thanks, Dick!" says Veronica. She pats him on the arm, looks at him with mock concern. "Don't worry. I'm sure Logan will notice you someday. You just keep hanging in there."

    "Just leave," he says hoarsely.

    She does.

    Dick goes into the bathroom and throws up.

***

    Weevil tracks Catalino Valenzuela to a Salvation Army halfway house two cities away. During the ride over late Friday afternoon, he's got a lot of time to think about things. He always does his best thinking on the bike.

    Catalino just wasn't smart, that was all, and he trusted the wrong people. He got busted for drugs, kicked out of school, and busted again after he turned eighteen. They were waiting for him. He did a six-month sentence, and once he's done at the halfway house, Weevil knows he'll probably end up back in jail in a matter of months. Some people never learn.

    Weevil made up the story he told Veronica, the one about his uncle Angel being in jail. What he didn't tell her is that he's got two other uncles who really are. And one of them's a lifer. They weren't smart about things, just like Catalino wasn't.

    Weevil figures he takes after Angel. Use your head and you can get by. Get a group of people around you you can trust, and maybe you've got half a chance.

    He's going to be eighteen next month. High school will be over soon after that, and he'll be out in the big bad world for real. He tells people he stayed in school because of his _abuela_ , but there's more to it than that. He almost likes school. He likes knowing things. He likes words and the way they fit together. It's one of the biggest secrets he keeps. Another one is that he sometimes wonders if maybe there's something he's supposed to be doing with his life besides running the streets and jacking cars.

    He's going to be eighteen, and he's smart, but he's already on the law-enforcement radar around here. They all know his name. In a small part of his mind, he wonders how long he's really going to last before he winds up like Catalino. He stays away from dealing and guns, but a couple counts of grand theft auto will take you down just as fast.

    Being around Veronica makes him think about these things; a lot more lately than he ever has. Veronica's an outsider like he is, he realizes that now, but she also knows how to fake it legit. She makes it look easy. She just slips back and forth between two worlds, existing somewhere outside both of them. Her _own_ little world.

    He thinks he could do that too, if he really wanted to. He could go to college. He could get a job, one where you didn't have to worry about leaving fingerprints behind. He remembers the first time some gringo guidance counselor told him he could do anything he set his mind to. Thirteen years old, he'd sneered, because he was Hispanic and he was poor and the whole system was stacked against him and he knew it. But he knows now that there was an element of truth in what the counselor said: You _can_ do anything. All you have to do is use your head. And want something bad enough.

    He's just not sure how bad he wants Veronica's world. He's not sure how much he's willing to change.

    He pulls up at the halfway house, and finds Catalino waiting outside on the steps for him. He takes off his helmet and nods. " _Cómo estas, guey."_

Catalino stands up and embraces him. "Hey, Weevil, _qué tal?_ You got a smoke on you?"

    Weevil pulls out his pack of Camels, hands one to Catalino. He takes one himself, lights them both up.

    He takes a long drag, exhales. "How you been, man? When they letting you out of this place?"

    "Got two more weeks. Then Arturo's got a job for me, I'll be all good."

    Weevil looks away. Arturo's thing is moving illegal weapons. Cops got _no_ sense of humor about that one. He takes another drag on his cigarette. Then: "Listen, Catalino, I gotta ask you something."

    "What's up?"

    "When you got busted last year. With the roofies. You remember who all you sold them to? Like maybe someone wanted some for a big party?"

    "Why you wanna know?"

    Weevil just looks at him. "It's important."

    So Catalino rattles off a few names Weevil doesn't recognize. "Naw, man, anyone from Neptune?"

    "Yeah," says Catalino. And he lists two or three more.

    Weevil's careful not to let his face show any reaction. "You sure about that last one?"

    "Yeah. He bought like fifty of 'em, day before I got popped. Why?"

    But Weevil's already climbing back onto his bike.

    Catalino stares at him. "Weevil? What's up?"

    "Forget it. I'll see you around." He pulls on his helmet.

    Catalino's still trying to talk to him as he rides away, but Weevil's only got one thing on his mind.

    He'll be seventeen for twenty-three more days. He can change _later_.

***

    Veronica opens the paper CD sleeve with trembling fingers. She's locked inside her bedroom with the music turned up loud. She has out an old laptop the Sheriff's department was going to throw away, back when Dad was in office. The thing weighs about ten pounds, but it's got no internal WiFi card, and the modem doesn't even work any more. It's completely isolated from the rest of the world. Veronica keeps it around for situations like this. Can't be too careful.

    She stares and finally takes the thin silver disc out of the sleeve. She ejects the CD-ROM tray and drops the disc down onto it.

    She pushes the button again, and the tray slides back inside the laptop with a smooth click.

    Windows 98 thinks it over for a minute, then pops up a dialogue box asking if she wants to look at the disc's contents with Windows Media Player.

    She slides her finger along the touchpad. Hovers the pointer over the Media Player icon. Her heart is racing about five hundred miles a minute, and she feels nauseated. And possibly on the verge of a panic attack.

    She moves her hand away from the touchpad. "Dammit," she mutters.

    She just can't do it. Not alone.

    She stands up and turns off the music, and picks up her cellphone. She menus over to Eli's number. Almost dials it, but doesn't.

    Won't it be worse, really, if he's here?

    Does she really want him to see her like that? Is it worth the further damage it could cause, just to have someone here to hold her hand?

    She's still staring at the cellphone when it suddenly rings, scaring her half to death; she jumps and almost drops it. It's Eli's name on the display, and the melody to _Story of My Life_ by Social Distortion is playing. She answers it quickly, keeps her voice calm.

    "Hello, stranger," she says. "Where are you?"

    "Veronica," he says. Sound of cars in the background. "Listen, I've got to take care of something tonight. Okay?"

    So something's up. Something big, by the sound of his voice. He's crafty, but not always the best dissembler.

    "What's going on?" asks Veronica. " What about the party?"

    "Can't do it tonight. Just trust me, all right? I'll explain it all later."

    "Eli," she says. "This is me here. Tell me _now_. What is going on?"

    Silence. Then: "I think I know who it was, Veronica. I'm going to go find out for sure."

    "What? Who _what_ was?"  But a split second later, she knows exactly what he means. "Eli, _wait--_ "

    "I'm gonna take care of it. Don't worry about it."

    "Wait! I've--"

    But he's already disconnected. She tries calling him back a few times, but it goes straight to voicemail. "Fuck!"

    And now it's just down to her; alone in the room with the only thing that can tell her what to do next: the video footage.

    In one furious motion, she sits down in front of the laptop and slams the Enter key.

    The laptop chugs into life. A blank screen pops up. Then fuzzy video, shot from somewhere up high, like maybe the top of a bookcase. Dick was nice enough to edit the video down, and it gets right to the good stuff.

    The bed. The two figures on it.

    Veronica watches three full minutes of the video clip. She's motionless except for the occasional tremor that rips through her body, making even her teeth chatter. Tears spill down her cheeks. Finally she slams the laptop closed and shoves it underneath her bed. She grabs her bag and leaves, locking the bedroom door behind her.

    She runs to the parking lot and scrambles to get into her car, then slams it into gear and screams out onto the PCH. 

    She knows who it was, beyond any doubt. And she knows where Eli's going.

***

    As he walks through the party, the 09ers don't pay as much attention to Eli Navarro as they might have even three months ago. But they do tend to get out of his way. He spots someone he vaguely recognizes from Logan's clique and asks where Logan is. The kid points to another room.

    When he spots Logan, Eli catches his eye and beckons. Logan makes his way through the crowd. He's obviously pretty wasted already. He slaps Eli on the back like they're best buds. "Hola, Chupacabra! Where's the little missus? I figured she'd--"

    Eli interrupts him. "Gotta talk to you, man. Business."  He says it way too loud, because nothing works better on rich white boys than giving them the chance to act like they got somewhere important to be. And if it's with someone dangerous-looking from the wrong side of town, even better.

    Works like a charm: "Ah," says Logan. "Let us withdraw to my office then, post-haste."

    "Right," says Eli. "Whatever you say, boss."

    He follows Logan out to the poolhouse. Inside, he sets the lock on the door after he closes it behind him.

    "Now," says Logan, turning to him, "What can I--"

    Eli sees his opening and takes it, lands a solid roundhouse punch that brings Logan to his knees.

    "What the _fuck,_ " Logan begins, one hand at the side of his mouth.

    "I know what you did to Veronica."

    Logan glares up at him. A trickle of blood falls from the corner of his mouth. But he climbs to his feet and then laughs in his crazed way. "Oh, this is classic. So you really are the _muscle_ now. And my response? A hearty _fuck you_ , buddy."

    So Eli hits him again.

    He's punched Logan Echolls before. He notices now, as he did then, that Logan can take the hits much better than you'd expect for a soft, pampered rich boy. He doesn't make any sound. And he doesn't try to fight back; he just keeps getting up and taking it. Like he knows he deserves it.

    Which doesn't mean you stop. Five or six more punches, and the front of Logan's snazzy dark rich-boy shirt is darker with blood. Eli grabs two fistfuls of that shirt, hauls Logan to his feet and slams him back against the nearest wall. "Admit it. Admit it was _you_."

    Logan gasps for breath. "Kiss...my...white _...ass_."

    Eli slams him against the wall again. Logan just hangs there limply, back to giggling now.

    Then Eli sees movement in his peripheral vision: Veronica staring at them through the glass door. Pounding on it with her palms. Looking concerned.

    He sighs and shakes his head. He shouldn't have called her.

    Girl just has a knack for turning up where you don't want her.

***

    Veronica raced to the party, driving as fast as she dared without getting pulled over. She didn't bother trying to find a good place to park; she  just pulled the Le Baron over, blocks down the street from Logan's house, and ran the rest of the way. She passed Eli's motorcycle where he'd parked it, practically next to the mansion's front gate. Seeing it there just made her run faster. When she couldn't find Logan or Eli anywhere, she didn't bother asking anyone, just headed straight for the poolhouse.

    Now, she stands there out of breath, watching Eli about to beat Logan's head in. She yanks ineffectually on the locked glass door. Finally she kneels down and feels under the door mat. And finds a key there. She unlocks the door and lets herself in.

    "Eli--" she cries, rushing up to them, "Don't do this."

    She stands next to Eli, but doesn't touch him. "Please," she says. She barely glances at Logan, whose mouth and nose are bleeding all down the front of his shirt. His left eye is starting to swell up.

    Logan wipes blood from his face on one sleeve and grins at her horrifically. "Veronica," he says, "Girl wonder come to my rescue. You want to get Cliché Guevara here off me?"

    "I didn't come here to rescue you. I came here to keep _him_ out of jail."

    "I told you I'd take care of it," Eli says to Veronica, not taking his eyes off Logan, not turning him loose either.

    "Take care of it," she echoes. "What are you going to do, _kill_ him?"

    "Don't know. Haven't decided yet. Depends on whether he _confesses_. How 'bout it, Logan? Gonna tell us why you bought all those roofies?"

    Logan looks confused, then panicky. Like he just now gets what this is all about.

    "He doesn't need to confess," Veronica says hollowly. "I already know it was him."

    "Yeah?" says Eli, finally looking her way, "Well, now that everyone's cards are on the table, maybe you wanna press charges. Or maybe I should just break his fuckin' jaw, who knows?"

    They all stand there. Eli stares at Veronica questioningly. Veronica stares at Logan with sick fascination. And Logan stares at the ground.

    Even after Veronica saw the video, she hadn't wanted to believe it was him. He'd been acting nearly human again, and he was in so much pain over his mother. She had wanted to believe they could somehow find their way back to being friends, could discover some common ground in all their loss. She'd _wanted_ to help him.

    She wishes she could pretend none of it ever happened. She doesn't know how to. But all her grand plans for revenge crumble into dust at the look on Logan's face, a look of horror and profound self-loathing. He's staring down at nothing at all now, lost in some other time and place.

    "Let's just go," says Veronica finally. "He's not going anywhere. And he's not going to call the police."

    Eli exhales and releases Logan. He takes one step back. "You sure?"

    "It's not worth it," she says. "It's just not. I know the truth now. And he _knows_ I know. That's all that matters." She looks at Eli pleadingly. "Let's go," she repeats.

    He hesitates, then: "Okay." He walks to her and puts a hand on her shoulder, moving her towards the door. Veronica sighs shakily, trembling and nauseated from adrenaline.

    But as they start to walk out, Veronica hears Logan mumble something behind them.

    She stops. She doesn't want to turn around, but she does it anyway. "What was that?"

    "I said," Logan says, "I thought you were Lilly."

    Veronica's stomach lurches. "What the hell are you talking about?"

    Logan, still leaning against the wall where Eli left him, slides down now to a sitting position. He wipes blood from his nose again, mostly smearing it everywhere, and rests his forearms on his knees. "That night," he says. "At the party. When you were passed out." He looks up at Veronica, eyes lost and hopeless. "You were wearing her dress."

    Veronica's too stunned to speak. Her stomach does another nasty flip; she's close to retching. She clamps her jaw shut. Beside her, Eli touches her arm and she remembers she's not alone. She steels herself, says, "Sure, Logan. Is that why you _drugged_ me?"

    Logan looks away. "I couldn't sleep. After Lilly was killed. For weeks and weeks. I kept having nightmares about her. Every single night. So I was taking the rohypnol to knock me out so hard I didn't have any dreams at all." Then, almost to himself: " _Dad_ didn't want me going to the shrink and getting antidepressants, _Dad_ thought it would look bad if the media found out. And after a while, I got used to the roofies and I started taking them just for the hell of it." He looks down at his hands. "The night of the party, I gave some to Dick. I was hoping he'd get good and wasted and quit following me around like a goddamn lost puppy. I didn't know till the next day that he'd decided it would be _funny_ to spike people's drinks with them."

    Veronica says nothing. She doesn't want to hear this, but she can't make herself leave.

    "I was drunk off my ass," Logan continues. "Out. Gone. Totally hammered. And I went looking for a place to lie down. And I walked into a bedroom, and saw you lying there. You--" His voice trembles and breaks. "You were wearing that stupid dress of Lilly's. And your hair was long like hers, back then." He gestures vaguely at his own head. "Before you cut it off."

    Eli shakes his head and looks away.

    Logan's voice is low now, hard to hear over the sound of the music outside. "You had your arm up, covering your face," he says. "And just for a second, I thought it was _her_. I thought you were Lilly. I was so fucked up, I really believed she was still alive." He chokes back a breath. "Just for a second," he repeats hoarsely.

    "What you did to me took longer than a second," hisses Veronica.

    "I know," says Logan, and he breaks into a sob. "I just missed her so fucking much. And you _reminded_ me of her. Every time I looked at you back then, all I could think of was Lilly. It was like you were the closest I could get to her. And when I touched you, you kind of woke up and said my name. I thought you knew it was me. I thought you didn't mind. I thought you were just drunk, too."

    Dead silence for nearly a full minute, while Logan cries, and Eli stands there with preternatural stillness.

    " _None_ of that," Veronica says finally, " is any fucking excuse." And only then does she realize that she's crying, too.

    "I know," says Logan, and he wipes his eyes with his unbloodied left hand. "I know."

    And then, almost inaudibly, his voice heavy with irony: "Sorry."

    And he just sits there, staring at nothing again, and after a few moments Eli touches Veronica's hand.

    "C'mon," he says quietly. "You all right to drive? I'll follow you home."

***

    Eli trails the Chrysler on his motorcycle. But Veronica doesn't go straight home; she pulls off at the beach. He parks and goes to her, but she doesn't seem to want to go down to the shore. She just stands next to her car and looks west, into the darkness. He puts his arm around her.

    "You gonna be okay?" he asks. He knows the question is ridiculous; he's not sure how _anyone's_ going to be okay ever again, after what went down tonight.

    But she smiles at him and says, "Yeah. I think so." And then, determinedly: "Knowing is better. I wasn't sure it would be. But it is."

***

    Logan sits in the front parlor the next afternoon, waiting for his father to come home.

    The house is _really_ trashed this time. And this time, Logan doesn't make even a cursory effort to clean up after everyone leaves.

    It's _beautiful_. There are bottles and cans and glasses on every flat surface, mud tracked all across the white terrazzo, and water is still pooled on the parquet floor in the den where people came in and out after using the pool. He's pretty sure that at least five of the house's six bathrooms have been puked in.

    Many, many things are broken. Mostly by Logan, after Veronica and Weevil left. People thought he was just drunk. They laughed.

    He kicked out the last of the passed-out stragglers two hours ago. And now he's just waiting. Waiting for his moment.

    The front doorknob turns. Logan reaches down and touches the handle of the baseball bat on the chaise next to him. Just making sure it's still there.

    Aaron comes in, followed by a driver who takes a look around at the party's aftermath, drops Aaron's luggage and makes a fast exit without waiting for a tip.

    Logan's father stops dead in his tracks. He looks like he's wondering if he came into the wrong house. "What the hell--" he begins. "Did someone break in? Did you call the police?"

    Logan stands up, leaning on the bat like a cane. "Nah. Had a few friends over for tea and cakes."

    His father stops looking concerned and starts looking seriously pissed instead, but he does a double-take when he gets a good look at Logan's face. "And what happened to _you?_ Did you get in a fight?"

    Logan clicks his tongue. "Rough sex. You know how it can be with these high-school boys. So clumsy and eager."

    Aaron loses it then. He stalks closer to Logan and yells, "You think this is funny?"

    Logan shrugs. "Usually."

    His father makes a grab for him. But for the first time in his life, Logan just ducks out of the way. It's easier than he ever thought it would be. It's like magic.

    He laughs. "Getting slow, old man."

    Aaron's face turns red with rage. His eyes look like they're going to pop out of his skull. But he gets it under control, sort of. "Be in my bedroom in five minutes. I need a drink first."

    "Oh, should I get the belt, too? I don't fucking think so."

    Aaron lunges at him again. Logan skips backwards. But this time he stops a few feet away, hoists the baseball bat to his shoulder. And holds his ground.

    Aaron stops, stares at him warily.

    "You know, Dad, they say the abuse thing runs in families, right? Well, you must have reached this point with _your_ old man, so you know that what I'm about to say is true. And the truth, as they say, sets us free."

    "What are you talking about?"

    Logan smiles. "We're done with this. Mom's gone and I don't have to play along any more. I don't have to keep quiet and keep the police and the newspapers out of it. But we're not going to fight it out and find out whether or not I can take you. There'll be no quaint little coming-of-age ritual so you can tell yourself it was all for my own good. I'm going to make it even simpler for you." He tightens his grip on the bat's handle. "You come at me ever again and I'll just kill you. That's all."

    They stare at each other.

    Aaron drops his eyes first. He clears his throat. "I've had a long flight. We'll talk about this tomorrow."

    And he turns and walks slowly out of the room.

    "Sure, Dad," calls Logan. "Whatever you say."

    He laughs and heads to his bedroom, to finally get some goddamn sleep.

    The truth sets you free.

***

_Epilogue; Two Months Later_

    Eli Navarro's done a lot of scary things in his life. He's stolen cars worth five times as much as his grandmother makes in a year, right out of their owner's driveways. He's been in more fights than he can remember and he's been knifed twice. And he's seen a guy shot to death right in front of him. Fear's no big deal, after a while. It's just like anything else: you get used to it.

    But this is taking fear to a new level, a thing that's beyond controlling your fight/flight reflexes or wondering whether someone's got your back.

    He's sitting here with Keith Mars.

    Meeting his girlfriend's father. Or, at least, meeting him for the first time under circumstances that don't involve misdemeanor charges.

    He'd rather be back in juvie right about now. At least there you stand half a chance of making it out alive.

    And they all sit there in the little living room, and Eli tries very hard not to think about what he and the ex-sheriff's daughter get up to in this apartment when the ex-sheriff is out of town. Because he's one hundred percent sure that the ex-sheriff is strapped.

     Veronica asks if he wants anything to drink, and he says "No, thanks."

    "Okay," she says. "I'll get you a soda. Be right back!"

    He opens his mouth to mention that he _said_ he didn't want anything, but then thinks better of it. He glances over and his eyes inadvertently meet Mr. Mars's.

    "Yeah," says Veronica's father, grinning. "She totally set you up there. She knew I'd get try to get you alone somehow, so she's getting it out of the way up front. She's treacherous like that." Then, like an afterthought: "And no, you don't get to agree with me."

    Eli swallows. He's going to _get_ Veronica for this.

    Mr. Mars leans forward, rests his elbows on his knees. "So. Mr. Navarro. _Prom_ , is it?"

    "Yeah." Eli clears his throat. "Yes, sir. Next weekend."

    Veronica's father laughs, but it's friendly. "You've gotta tell me--how in the world did _that_ happen?" 

    Eli looks at him woefully. "I lost a bet."

    The older man nods. "See, that's why I never bet against her."

    "I'm trying to take it as a learning experience."

    "There's not going to be any motorcycles involved in this scenario, right?"

    Eli shakes his head. "I'm going to borrow my cousin's Corvette."

    "All right."  Pause.  "Of course, I'll need to jot down the tag number when you pick her up. I've still got some friends in the sheriff's office."

    Eli stares a second, then realizes the man is joking. Maybe. He grins, to be on the safe side.

    Mr. Mars nods, like that was the right response. "I understand you're graduating soon. Got any plans?"

    _Just be honest,_ Veronica had said. _It's your best shot at survival._

    "I've got some things in mind. I haven't decided for sure yet."

    "That's good. Keep your options open. You're young." Then he gets a contemplative look on his face, and Eli braces himself for the _You're not good enough for my daughter_ speech. But instead he says, "Look, Eli, Veronica's usually got pretty good instincts about people. So I'm not going to bother threatening to kill you if you hurt her. I mean, not that I wouldn't, I just think that it goes without saying. But she does tend to want to see the best in people if she can, and that's not always the safest way to go. So I'm going to ask you to try not to let anyone _else_ hurt her."

    Eli plays that through a few times, wondering if maybe Veronica's father knows more about what's she's been through than she realizes.

    Eli looks at the man directly. "No, sir. Not gonna let that happen."

    The older man smiles at him, and all at once Eli realizes that against all his expectations, Keith Mars _hasn't_ already made up his mind to hate him. It's a strange feeling.

    Veronica comes back into the room then, and hands him a drink. _Long effin' time it took to pour a Coke,_ he thinks.

    "So," she says, "Did he at least read you your Miranda rights first?"

    "Oh, honey," says Veronica's father, "don't be silly. I've never lost one on a technicality like _that_."

    Veronica and her father exchange a look. And even though Eli knows he's missing some of the subtleties of what's passing between them, the mood in the room lightens, like some sort of agreement has been reached.

    And Veronica sits back down and slips her hand into his.

    So maybe there are scarier things after all.

***

    Eli picks her up early, and Veronica smiles to be climbing into the Corvette again.

    But Eli drives in the wrong direction, down the coast--down south, and then to the little stretch of public beach where they first kissed. He parks. The sun is just beginning to set over the Pacific.

    "Oh," says Veronica in faux-swoon, "This is so _romantic!_   But, sad to say, it's not getting you out of going to the prom."

    Eli smiles with his mouth, but his eyes are troubled.

    Veronica frowns. "What is it? What's wrong?"

    "It's just--" He looks at her. "Lilly used to joke that she was going to make me go to senior prom with her. Just to see the look on people's faces. She said it the first night we hooked up."

    It's the first time he's mentioned Lilly since he showed Veronica the tattoo, and Veronica waits to see if he's going to go on. It would be easy for her to get insecure about him maybe being hung up on Lilly still, but she knows what it's like to keep something inside for so long.

    So she tries a simple question: "Where did you two meet, anyway? I never saw you talk at school." Trying not to push.

    He slides off his seatbelt and leans back in the leather bucket seat. "I had just broken up with this girl Teresa," he says, and for a moment Veronica's so shocked he's actually talking that she almost loses track of his words. He goes on: "So one night I was up in the hills, riding my motorcycle by all the mansions. I used to go up there to think. It's real quiet at night, you know? Nice smooth roads, no potholes. Get away from all the traffic, just cruise real slow through the neighborhoods. Whatever. So I'm riding along, and I stop at a red light, little intersection out by the really big houses. And then I see this girl walking along the sidewalk, coming up to the corner next to me. And I realize she's looking at me. Pretty girl. And I'm thinking, okay, this is weird, because people don't go out after dark around here unless they're walking some big fuckin' dog, and I don't see no golden retriever. You know what I'm sayin'?

    'So I'm sitting there on my bike waiting for the light to turn green, and she's standing there on the corner and she's still staring at me. No other cars around. And then she walks right up to next to my bike. Right in the middle of the road. And she _knocks on my helmet_ to get my attention"--He gestures with his fist like he's knocking on a door--"like I'm not already looking right at her. I'll never forget that. And she says, 'Don't I know you from school?' And I'm sitting there, and I kinda recognize her now, but I still have no idea what this rich white chick is doing even talking to me. And the light turns green, but I don't wanna drive away because she's still standing too close to the bike.

    'So I take off my helmet.  She says, 'Oh, cool, I _knew_ I recognized you!' And I tell her, yeah, I go to Neptune, maybe we've seen each other around. I tell her my name. And then she just..."   A half-smile haunts his lips. "She just climbs right on the bike behind me and says, 'My name's Lilly. I've never been on a motorcycle before. Let's go somewhere.'"

    He frowns intently. Like he's still trying, eighteen months later, to figure it all out.

    Veronica says, "That was Lilly."  It's the best explanation she can offer.

    Eli nods, once and slowly. "So I tell her she can't ride without a helmet, and she says not to worry about it, that if we get pulled over her daddy will fix it. I try to tell her it's not just about getting a ticket, but she doesn't care. Won't take _my_ helmet either. So I finally drive off, thinking I'll just cruise around the neighborhood real easy and calm 'til she gets bored, and hope to God we don't see any cops and she doesn't fall off and break her neck.

    'But at the next stop sign we come to, she says she wants to go to the beach. I try to talk her out of it but...you know."

    "Yeah," says Veronica. "I know. Lilly was always good at getting what she wanted."

    "So I take her down to the beach. I'm still trying to take it easy but she keeps yelling at me to go faster, and by this point I'm thinking I either wanna marry this girl or strangle her, not sure which."

    Veronica smiles.

    "We get to the beach and I park, and she just jumps off the bike and runs off down the beach. I'm thinking maybe I'll just leave her there, maybe better for both of us. She can call someone for a ride home. But then I worry something'll happen to her, she's all alone down there. And someone probably saw us riding away together, some damn security camera or something, so anything that happens to her will be on my head anyway. So I go down to her. She's walking around by the water and she's all upset. Says she had a big fight with her boyfriend. I tell her yeah, I know how it is, I just broke up with my girlfriend. And suddenly she grabs me and _kisses_ me. And then she laughs and says, 'Well, don't you feel better now? 'Cause _I_ do.'

    'And so we end up sitting on the beach and talking for a couple hours. We kissed some more. She said...she said a lot of stuff. I used to think she meant all of it. I don't know any more. She said she always saw me at school and wondered what I was really like. She said we had this special connection now and it was going to be our secret. Like, we'd see each other at school and we'd both just _know_. And I'm just listening to her and smiling and nodding, thinking maybe this girl is crazy or maybe she's on drugs, but I also half believe her, you know? Nobody ever talked to me like that before. Nobody ever said I was part of anything special. And she said..."

    But he shakes his head, unwilling or unable to continue the thought.

    After a moment, Veronica says softly, "What happened after that?"

    "What happened? I drove her home. She kissed me again when I dropped her off. We met up a couple times after that. You know, in secret."  His expression falters. "Then she got back together with Echolls and she didn't want to see me any more. A few weeks later she was dead."  He stares at the dashboard like it holds all the answers. "And I went crazy for a little while, and I had the tat done. And that's it."

    Realization dawns on Veronica. "It was _this_ beach, wasn't it? Where you brought her?"

    He nods.

    "So that night you and I came here--it _was_ about Lilly, after all. Kind of."

    Then he looks directly at Veronica for the first time since he started talking. "Yes and no. See, about a year after I got the tattoo, this skinny little blond girl starts harassing me all the time, causing trouble, getting in the middle of my business. Getting me involved in _her_ business _,_ when I'm pretty sure I don't want to be _._ I just keep saying yes and I don't even know why. And the funny thing is, she keeps turning up where I don't expect her...and after a while I realize I'm not thinking about Lilly so much any more."

    Veronica looks at him, a whole lot of things coming together in her head in a way they never did before. She understands, of a sudden, that letting go is a thing that only happens in stages.

    "Thanks," she says. "For telling me."

    Eli nods.

    "Come on," she says, "Let's go do this prom thing. Lilly would want us to."

    Eli starts the engine up. He puts it into reverse, but glances at her one last time. "No chance I could talk you out of it?"

    "Well," she says thoughtfully, "Lilly would probably _also_ want us to blow it off and spend the night in a cheap hotel room. In Tijuana." She shrugs. "I guess it all depends on how persuasive your techniques are."

    "Persuasive? Baby, you _know_ how persuasive I can be."

    She grins. "Just drive."

    So he does.

***


End file.
